


Home for Christmas

by Dalzo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Eventual Happy Ending, Ex-to-Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Only One Bed, Parenthood, Road Trips, here ye' all tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21570820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: Rey expected to spend Christmas all on her own. Instead, she's in her Ex-Husband's car, preparing to spend two whole weeks with him, his family and the daughter they share.“Was it easy for you?” He asked, voice tight and low; harsh enough to twist at her stomach. “To stop loving me?"What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 42
Kudos: 237





	Home for Christmas

As a parent, Ben Solo appeared to have no flaws:

He always had Breha ready and put-together on a school morning, braiding her hair back into a neat pony-tail, making sure her uniform was ironed and pressed with matching navy-blue socks, all the while helping her learn to tie her laces, no matter _how long_ it took.

For Breha, he’d put work aside and head in late. The same couldn’t be said for Rey. 

Unlike Ben, she wasn’t an esteemed CEO and couldn’t show up an hour late without facing consequences. Unlike Ben, her mornings were rushed—Breha’s hair thrown into a quick and easy three-bun hairstyle, just like her mother’s, already escaping their ties when they left the house and locked the door behind them; uniform _relatively_ ironed with a few temperamental wrinkles here and there; velcro shoes because there were _afternoons_ and _weekends_ to help with her laces. 

Unlike Ben, who was neat and tidy and patient, Rey was the complete and utter opposite (though, he would disagree—for certain thing, he'd argue she was _too_ patient). 

But that didn’t mean he had no flaws to speak of:

Ben was impulsive, especially in anger; he was guarded and awkward around strangers, which in turn made him seem cold and off-standish, and outright refused to talk to his parents or even acknowledge their existence. He was unforgiving and stubborn, never thought his opinion could be the _wrong_ opinion and always, always, _always_ struggled to say the correct thing in a tense moment. 

Above all else, however, Ben Solo had the _worst_ timing. 

“I’d like to have Breha over the Christmas Break.” 

Which he proved spectacularly that very morning. 

“I know we’ve never taken full breaks— _I do.”_ He continued with a wave of his abnormally large hand, oblivious to the fact that Rey was preparing for a very important presentation and this had just shifted her entire world. “But I was thinking I could take her up to my parents. She could see the snow and...them; us together, I mean. My parents and I.” 

There was so much to process and _so much_ to ask, but nothing could break through the surface of an old worry that slammed into Rey so hard it left her winded. 

“Rey?” 

“What?!” She snapped, turning on her feet and damn near falling over in the process. “What, Ben?” 

He remained silent and impassive, those stupid unreadable eyes so intently searching her face. She _hated_ that—how deeply he would study her expressions, how easily he could uncover the scars she fought to keep buried. 

“If it doesn’t work for you, I’ll accommodate you; I always do. You know that.” 

She hated the understanding even more, however. 

“Breha’s old enough to decide how she wants to spend her holidays—go and ask her yourself.” 

“Rey,” he intoned softly. 

It only spurred an annoyed huff from her, heels clicking loudly against the floorboards as she headed to where their daughter sat on the couch, eyes glued to the telly with a bowl of fruit forgotten in her lap. 

“Breha?” She looked up, curious. “How would you like to spend Christmas with Daddy at Nanny and Pappy’s?” 

Her hazel eyes brightened. “And see the snow?!” Her high little voice exclaimed loudly, jumping up from the seat, knocking the bowl to the floor. 

_“Careful, sweetheart,”_ Ben chided softly, dropping on one knee to gather the apple in his giant palm. 

Breha, unfazed, continued to bounce up and down excitedly—babbling on about her beloved Pappy and making snowmen and snow angels together and catching out Santa all without drawing a single fucking breath. 

“Well there you go,” Rey smiled tightly at her ex-husband who glanced up from the floor. “All yours, Ben.” 

She breezed back into the kitchen to finish packing Breha’s lunch, Ben hot on her toes. 

“That wasn’t fair, Rey—”

“What wasn’t fair?”

“Putting it on Breha.” He gave her a disappointed frown before chucking the fruit in the bin. 

“I _didn’t_ put it on her, I asked her a question—”

“And got short when she didn’t give you the answer you were hoping for.” 

“Short?!” She glared up at him, shaking her head. “I’m not _short_ with Breha, Ben, I’m short with you.” His face twisted at this, leaning back as she planted a pointed finger hard into his chest. “You drop this on me in the morning when I’m already pressed for time, preparing for a fucking presentation in front of Plutt that I really don’t have the patience for today—”

“Calm down before she hears you.” 

Rey laughed, shrill and devoid of any humour. “Calm down,” she echoed, muttering to herself while returning to the kitchen bench to finish cutting up the sandwich. “Calm down.” She scoffed again as he squirmed behind her.

“You’re not cutting off the crust?” 

“Cutting off— _why would I do that?”_

“She doesn’t like it.” 

Rey sighed, setting down the knife with buckled shoulders. “You know what,” with a flick of her wrist, Rey checked her watch. “I don’t have time. Cut the crust off yourself—I need to head.” 

His hand wrapped around her arm, keeping her in place. 

“We should talk about this,” he murmured. “You’re upset and I understand why. Please, just…” He trailed off, thumb soothing against her wrist. “Let’s talk this out—”

“There’s nothing _to_ talk about. It’s fine.” She snatched her arm out of his light grasp. “Breha has every right to spend time with her grandparents.”

_“Rey.”_

“Later, Ben. I have to go.” 

For a minute, they only seemed to stare at each other, startlingly close. 

“At least tell me you won’t be on your own,” he muttered softly, almost a whisper. She blinked, gaze set upon the face that once drove her mad—still did, really. 

It was Breha’s sudden infectious giggle that forced Rey to step back. 

“I need to go,” she repeated. “Don’t forget her dolly—she has show and tell today.” 

“I’ve already packed it in her bag.” 

“Great.” Rey shuffled on her feet. “Thank you. For helping out this morning—”

“You know I don’t mind—”

“I know.” 

“I can do it more often; whenever you need me.” 

She sucked in a breath, exhaling with a nod before frantically looking around to grab her stuff. 

“Here,” Ben held out her coat, helping her into it. “Your handbag’s out in the lounge.” 

“Breha darling, come give me a kiss goodbye. Mummy’s got to go,” she announced after exiting the kitchen, shouldering her bag and dropping to a crouch as Breha came running. 

“Bye Mummy.” Her chubby little arms wrapped around her neck, wild black hair obscuring Rey’s vision. 

“You be good for Daddy.”

“I will,” she chirped, beginning to squirm in Rey’s hold. 

Rey planted one last kiss on her forehead with a muffled “ _love you”,_ brushing back the wild bedhair before straightening back up. 

“I can trust you to lock up?” 

“Of course you can.” Ben nodded, hands digging into the pockets of his expensive blue slacks that _frame_ his thighs in such a wonderful manner it’s sinful. “Good luck on your presentation, Rey.” 

She sent one last small smile his way before leaving the apartment, stinging eyes finally spilling over with tears. 

This presentation was _bound_ to be a complete and utter mess. 

**~ * ~**

“Mummy?” 

“Yes darling?” 

“Why is Daddy coming to Nanny and Pappy’s?” Rey glanced down, book loosening in hand while taking in her daughter’s frown line that was _so_ like her father’s. “Daddy never visits Nanny and Pappy when they stay.” 

Her curiosity lingered, room silent as Rey pondered on how to answer. It was a question she asked herself; a question to ask Ben. 

“Well,” she began quietly, “Nanny and Pappy are your own Daddy’s mum and dad. He wants to spend Christmas with them _and_ with you. You’re both very special to him.” 

“Then how come he never visits?”  
  
“He’s too busy.” 

Her frown deepened, full pouty lips pulling down as she turned her head to look up at Rey. 

“Don’t you want to come see Nanny and Pappy too?” 

“I wish I could.” Rey pulled her in closer under the covers. “I have to work, though.” 

“But I want you to be there with Nanny and Pappy and Daddy and Chewie.” 

“I’ll call you every night, sweet BB,” Rey murmured. “And at _least_ three times on Christmas.” 

“Will Santa be able to find me?” 

She laughed. “Have you been good this year?” 

“Yes,” she answered with an exaggerated huff. “The bestest!”

“Best,” Rey corrected warmly, tapping her nose lightly. She giggled. 

“The _best.”_

“Then _I know_ he’ll find you and spoil you too much.” Breha gave her a toothy grin at this. “Should we finish the story?” 

She nodded, settling back into her mother’s side as they returned to _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone;_ an illustrated edition Ben had bought for Breha on one of his business trips to London. It was Rey’s first time reading it too, though given BB’s age, she was far more engrossed in the weaving tale than her daughter. 

She expected that’s why he insisted it be left at her apartment. 

They barely made it through another chapter before Breha passed out into a deep sleep, huge lingering breaths comically loud for her tiny child lungs signalling the change. Rey was _tempted_ to continue, but her attention belonged elsewhere. 

Her small hand twitched at her side, eyes moving under closed lids—reacting to whatever fantasy she’d dreamt up. Long lashes, thick hair and a slim buttoned nose; Rey couldn’t help but study it all despite studying her a _thousand_ times over.

She could waste her whole life away _just_ like this and not even care. 

But tonight was a different kind of study; a necessary kind of study. Come the morning, Breha would be clutching the hand of her father, _Frozen_ duffel bag held in his other while leading her to his _Tesla_. 

Two weeks, they’d be gone; two weeks, she’d be alone. One week, she could do—she did it on the regular, with her and Ben often alternating unless something come up (and even then, they so often helped each other out that it was _never_ really a week without her). But two whole weeks? It called for a sleepless night, just to take in her sweet little face as much as she could. 

Rey tried not to think about it—the _alone_ part—but the fear never really went away. For the first nineteen years of her life, she’d been neglected into isolation. Christmas didn’t even _exist_ until she met Finn. 

This was her first holiday on her own since. 

_“Fuck Christmas—it’s all materialistic bullshit. People say it’s all about giving. Bullshit. It’s nothing but nothing. You have no place in this consumerist holiday; you’re nothing. But not to me.”_

Well, in a sense it was. 

_“You’re not alone—not tonight.”_

She wondered if _he_ remembered that Christmas as vividly. 

A groan pulled her attention back down to the only gift that truly mattered. She mumbled something—it sounded like _Dolly,_ but Rey couldn’t be sure. She’d always been worried about that. How _literal_ she was about things—her babies were _baby,_ her dolls _dolly;_ nothing was ever given a name. 

All kids were different though. That’s what Ben said. Still, she worried—Rey always worried, fearing her lack of childhood would shape her into a mother who missed things. 

A mother who failed. 

It was a hard thought; a winding sort of fear. And so Rey buried it deep with ease—like coming back to practice an old hobby and it all just _clicked_ —swallowing it all down while pushing Breha’s hair from her sharp furrowed face, wishing the clock would stop ticking to give them more time. 

_Just a little longer._

It wasn’t enough.

**~ * ~**

“No Daddy!” A high-pitched squeal echoed around her flat. “Dolly doesn’t like you, so you can’t hold her.” 

The six-year-old snatched her doll away from Ben’s loose grip. Stunned, he looked up at Rey with a quizzical brow. “What have you been saying—”

“She doesn’t like _Mum_ either.” 

“Ah.” He nodded, hands sliding into the pockets of dark jeans. Tight against thighs, as usual. _Christ._ His feet shifted on the spot, side to side; _nervous._ “So, um...how are you?” 

Rey glanced up from packing the last of Breha’s stuff (toiletries: toothbrush, hairbrush, soap, clips and scrunchies, detangle spray—all into a _Frozen_ case because everything and anything was _frozen),_ briefly frowning. 

“I’m well,” she answered slowly. 

“Good,” he muttered. “That’s good.” A lengthy pause followed, broken _only_ by the ruffling of items and tell-tale sound of a zipper closing tight. “When will you be heading to Finn’s?” 

Rey stiffened. “Oh, um—” Three seconds passed. “Tomorrow, maybe. I haven’t really worked it out.” 

“I thought you’d be leaving today.” His eyes narrowed in, arms folded across that _impossibly_ broad chest of his. 

“No, not today. I didn’t get much sleep last night—wouldn’t be wise to drive.” 

“Why not?” 

“What?” 

“Why didn’t you get much sleep?” 

“Mummy?” There was a tug at her sleep pants, but she couldn’t look away—his dark gaze had her hypnotised into an unwanted interrogation. 

“It’s nothing—”

“Why, Rey—”

“Mummy?” Two tugs followed. 

“Sleep is a fickle thing, you know this better than anyone—”

“That’s complete _bull—”_

“Mummy!” 

“What?” She snapped, finally turning to Breha. She was pouting. Rey softened her tone, leaning in closer. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

She blinked in return. “Can we get ice cream on the trip?” 

“You’d have to ask Daddy that question—”

“No,” he interrupted swiftly. “It’s too early for sugar.”

_Good thing he hasn’t noticed the Frootloops in the cupboard._

“Pleaseeeeee—”

“After lunch, maybe.” 

“Please, please please please, _pleaaase Daddy—”_

“Breha,” he sighed loudly as the six-year-old began to burst, blubbering nonsense as the tears were forced on—the beginning of a tantrum that was bound to get worse. 

_“But why not nowww—”_

“Breha,” Rey called, short and cracking like a whip. “Stop carrying on or you’ll get no ice cream over the whole holiday.” Abruptly, the waterworks came to a halt. “Is that what you want?” She sniffed, pouting with wet eyes, then slowly shook her head. “Didn’t think so _—_ now if you ask Daddy very nicely, he might let you play on his phone.” 

She didn’t ask—her version of _asking_ was staring up at her father, wide puppy-dog eyes on show. Ben was too busy sending Rey a harsh frown. Nevertheless, he unlocked his phone and handed it over. 

“You know I don’t like that…” He muttered, hand raking through his hair (a sign of stress) once Breha had run off with the device clutched in hand. “She shouldn’t be introduced to these things this young—”

“Well, good luck keeping her settled on a six hour drive.” 

A heavy pause settled between them, his jaw clenched tight. The muscle in his cheek jumped, drawing attention to such lovely high cheekbones, hollow as Ben grinded his teeth together. 

“Is everything packed?” 

“Yep,” Rey answered slowly, exaggerating the ‘p’. “All good to go.” 

“Good to go,” he repeated softly, then— _“Rey?”_

“Yes?” 

“Are you really okay with this—”

“We’ve been over this.” 

“Yes, very briefly,” he huffed. “The morning I told you. You’ve avoided all my attempts since—”  
  
“Because I’m fine—”

“You look like shit, Rey!” Her jaw snapped shut, hazel eyes zoning in on her former husband. With a groan, Ben pressed the heel of his palms hard into closed eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean _… fuck.”_ Ben’s hands returned to his side as he took a step forward. “You’re gorgeous, you know that. But right now you’re pale and tired and even admitted to getting no sleep and sometimes I think you _forget_ we spent years together. I _know_ you—”

“Yes, I’m tired Ben. Well done, you figured it out!” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but Rey couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. “I’m a mother. I’m always tired.” With no response, she turned to the basket of laundry on the dining table (never _not_ messy) and began to fold. “You should probably hit the road soon if you want to beat the traffic—it’s most likely nuts already, so...” 

When no response came, Rey pursed her lips and glanced his way, taking in the muscle beneath his eye that twitched.

“Yeah. Great idea,” he finally replied, abrupt and stiff before turning his tense body to the archway, retreating footsteps loud and bouncing off the walls, intune with the pounding in her chest. 

**~ * ~**

There was some comfort to be had in a goodbye. Rey so rarely received one before they left, but the big hug from Breha and the tears she spilled over wanting her mother to come… well, that was reassuring enough. 

Even Ben said goodbye despite being upset with her, wearing that disappointed frown while telling her to ‘take care of yourself’. 

He had _such_ a deep frown. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about it all day: those full pink lips pulling down as Rey took a deep sip from the third glass of wine that night. One more glass and that would be the bottle. 

How long had it been since she’d polished off a bottle of red on her own? 

A hard pounding came at her door, startling Rey into spilling the little bit of liquid all over her chest. 

_“Shit,”_ she hissed through clenched teeth, quickly jumping to her feet, hands grabbing the hem of her shirt to pull the fabric away. 

Another round of knocks slammed at her apartment door. 

It’d be the pizza she ordered—a thin-crust pepperoni coming with a disgruntled deliverer, clearly, who was certainly in for a _not-so-generous_ tip. 

During the time it took for Rey to fetch her purse, the furious, heart-jumping thumps came again. 

She marched to her door, quickly unbolting the lock, wrenching the door open with a flourish to glare at the impatient fellow, only—

Her jaw dropped. 

Ben Solo stood before her, eyes positively wild, box of pizza clutched in hand, wearing an irritated scowl of his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking:
> 
> **Again? A-FUCKIN-gain? Nothing new, nothing changed; same old shit. Same old fuckin' shit.**
> 
> Yeah, here's another au... Look, I ACTUALLY have a plan, okay?! This is pre-written...sort of...the second chapter is ALMOST done (im sorry, i have 0 self control, but this wouldn't leave me alone OKAY?! I need to repair my heart after Marriage Story). 
> 
> Anyways, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Special thanks to the AMAZING [Azuwrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azuwrite/pseuds/Azuwrite) who did a top-notch beta job and soothed my concerns over child-writing (i hope she comes off as realistic). You're the bomb.com and I really appreciate you 
> 
> Next chapter should be out soon

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter [@dalzonii](https://twitter.com/Dalzonii) for updates or to just see my general nonsense :))
> 
> Fic Title also comes from the Eagle's song 'Please Come Home For Christmas', so if you wanna check that out, go for ittt!


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